Graveyard
by Dawwnee
Summary: Felled by a bullet, Ciel bleeds out before Sebastian can save him. The sudden death and uncompleted contract leaves the demon in denial of the death, and he continues to attempt to tend to the Earl even after the body's been buried. Ciel still remains, though, his soul lingering around his old butler, trying desperately to be heard or seen or noticed.


_For awhile, Ciel had tried to get answers. Had tried to talk to him. Had tried to strike him out of anger and frustration. No one had came for him when everything had started to fade, when the pain had finally started to drain away with the last of his blood. No scythe had been plunged through his chest, no reaper had stood over him, watching his life as it flashed before his own eyes, ready to make its judgement on him and mark him over and done in their little black book. He'd been left there, caught somewhere between his past and his present, watching each of his life's mistakes while barely managing to watch his butler kneel over him, trying desperately to save him, to call him back, to keep the weakened heart beating even as it began to stall and give out._

_His soul was already marked and signed off. There was no need for any wasted time on a soul already sold off. And so he'd been left for consumption, but the demon didn't bother trying to make his move. The Earl hadn't understood. He hadn't understood why, moments after everything had gone dark and numb, he was suddenly standing beside his butler, his own body. The sight was sickening, and his confusion wasn't helped by Sebastian's apparent ignorance of his presence, no matter how much he screamed at him. He continued clinging to the broken shell, trying to return life to the empty eyes, denying the loss._

_And the denial had continued long after he'd died, long after someone else had pronounced it, long after the plans had been made, even long after the funeral had been held and his body had been tucked beneath 6 feet of earth. He'd watched the formalities, saw his family mourn, his friends and servants among them, scowling at them for the church setting, for making such a silly thing so over the top and exaggerated. They'd already held one funeral for him, why put so much effort into the second? He'd eventually grown tired of it, drifting past those crowding the pews, to the doors, to where Sebastian stood, looking in, and seeming almost as though he, too, was confused, as though he had no idea what these people were doing, why they were mourning his master, planning to hide him away. It was pathetic. And Ciel hid his own heartache at his lover's utter denial of his loss by hissing insults, increasingly aware that the other seemed to have no way of hearing him, of feeling his pathetic attempts to latch onto his clothing._

_But he didn't need to actually be able to hang onto him to be able to follow him. Just as those spirits who haunted old houses, his had attached itself to something, and that something had been his demon. He'd followed after him, watching the denial continue to fester and grow, watching the once butler continue to try to cater to a dead body, bring out tea and sweets and meals to the grave. It was more heartbreaking, more pathetic, and the ghost soon found himself either pressing his non-existent fingers to the other's mouth, or persisting to continue to try and speak to him, to tell him that he was right, that he was still here. Anything to get attention. Whether it be the attention needed for Sebastian to eat him, or to simply respond to him._

_Eventually, as he watched the other servants leave, supported by the portions of the Phantomhive fortune he'd been sure to leave them in his will, he'd caved to Sebastian's attempts to play pretend, figuring out how to at least appear to be sitting on a chair, or lying down. He'd sit himself in the chair in the garden, watching the man serve sweats and meals and beverages, every now and then reaching out to try and use what were essentially offerings to an empty grave. His hand always passed through. The most he seemed able to cause was ripples in the liquid, and, sometimes, he hoped that was enough to catch the demon's attention._

_Slowly, ever so slowly, he'd noticed how the other appeared to experience moments of clarity, moments when he seemed able to identify and accept the fact that his little lover was gone, dead. And they, somehow, felt worse than the stubborn denial that was more common. _

_Like now. Sitting silently in the chair, watching his old butler step back into the crumbling manor, his attention only shifting once he had disappeared from view. And then he'd stared, blankly, at the brighter figures standing a little further off, closer to the graves of his parents, and the two tiny tombstones in the garden, listening as they cooed and called to him. Encouraging him to come with them, to move on into the light they claimed was there, but that he couldn't see. Another familiar feature of the years that had passed. For awhile, the figures of his mother and who he assumed to be his sisters had distressed him, and the sudden fear and sorrow had made him cling tighter to what remained of his old life, and they'd always left him be when they saw how frightened he'd gotten. They always returned, though, and once the shock had faded he'd been more upset by the lack of this light they claimed was there, and angered any time it was suggested he just let go of Sebastian to see if it revealed itself then. He couldn't let go, not until Sebastian had. Not until the demon moved on. And, eventually, he'd stopped paying attention, stop registering what they were saying to him, simply stared and nodded and acted as he had in life. Sebastian needed him. He had promised him his soul and he'd see the promise through, even if the demon would not eat him, even if it meant clinging to him and this plane of existence for as long as the demon continued to exist._

_He'd turned away once again as the butler returned, staring blankly at the umbrella that was held above the chair that, to the demon, was empty. Rain. He hadn't noticed. Another thing he couldn't feel. Like the wind, which he only really noticed due to the umbrella being blown from the man's hand. And that seemed to be a trigger, because he was suddenly aware, suddenly recalling that night. And it was heartbreaking all over again, as the demon remembered, and slipped into misery. "I'm not getting wet," he murmured, rising from the chair, following after the demon to the grave, "I'm not wet, it's okay, I can't get wet. You tried, I don't blame you for it, I know you tried." He couldn't be heard, he knew that._

_He watched the demon cover his grave with his coat, the boy shifting over the grave to reach out, wrapping arms that were little more than air around the other's neck - something he'd eventually mastered, being able to at least appear to be holding something that he could no longer, rather than expecting to be caught by something physical - as he had when he was alive. _

_"I'm staying. I'm here. I'll be here until you finally take your reward or move on without me."_


End file.
